


Trappings Of State

by ladyoneill



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Bromance, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven days into the founding of the Monroe Republic and Bass was picking fabric samples for uniforms.  This was not what he had in mind when he founded his own country.  Luckily Miles found some really good Scotch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trappings Of State

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neverminetohold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/gifts).



> Sorry it's so short but I hope it's enjoyable. I love the bromance/sexiness of these two, love to have them banter and bicker. Hope you do, too! There's sex, but nothing graphic, and I hope I followed your prompt!

"Choosing drapes?"

At the facetious question from his second in command, Bass looked up from his desk and snarled.

Leaning against the door jamb to the office of the President of the fledgling Monroe Republic--not quite an oval office but it would do--Miles grinned and held up a bottle of twelve year old single malt Scotch he'd dug out of the cellar. It was now closer to sixteen years, but unopened and from one of the smaller, more exclusive distilleries in the Highlands.

Never a rye or bourbon fan, he was going to miss Scotch when it eventually ran out, but for now he was going to savor it.

Bass shoved a pile of fabric onto the floor and beckoned to the bottle. "You don't know how much I need that."

"Why are you surrounded by fabric samples?" Kicking the door shut behind him, Miles crossed the room to a seat across the desk from his best friend who was grabbing glasses from the credenza behind him.

"Apparently the soldiers need uniforms."

"Why?"

Clinking down the glasses, Bass slumped into his chair--a firm, navy leather that had yet to adjust to his ass--and rubbed his temples. "There was a memo."

"I already hate those things," Miles growled as he cracked open the bottle. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled deeply, letting the smoky smell flood his senses. "Damn..."

"Pour."

Grinning, Miles obeyed. "Bossy."

"I'm the boss. Except I seem to be reduced to deciding the color of wool for damn uniforms."

"Grey. Maple trees for the dye." He passed Bass one of the glasses, the dark amber liquid glinting in the light of several hurricane lamps scattered around the office.

"How do you know that?"

"Amazing what you can learn from banging a woman."

"Oh, right, Sarah. You shacked up with her two winters ago in southern Indiana. She was into dyeing her own cloth. She still around?"

Miles shrugged. It wasn't like his relationships ever lasted past the point he wanted them to. Sarah had been fun, a bit of an Earth Mother type, but useful. In fact, he was wearing one of the shirts she made him in a dark rusty red linen.

"Fine, grey it is. One thing down, several dozen more to go." Bass took a sip from his glass and slid deeper into his chair with a pleased sigh. "Damn..."

Taking his own sip, Miles silently echoed the sentiment as he made himself comfortable as well. "So...we did it. We started our own kingdom. You picked a color for the uniforms. What's next on the agenda?"

The pleasure on Bass' face faded to an annoyed frown. "According to these damn memos..."

"I can't believe bureaucracy sprang up so quickly. We barely had time to unpack," the other man interrupted before taking a large swallow of Scotch.

"No kidding. We've only been in power here for eleven days and I already feel like shooting half of my so called staff and pretty much all of my advisors. Anyway, I need to choose an official china pattern. If you laugh, you're dead."

Biting back the laugh but unable to stop the grin, Miles just shook his head. "You need a wife, a First Lady."

"Want the job?"

"Pretty sure I can't pull off a dress and don't even think about heels. I'll stick with being in charge of the military."

Bass waggled his eyebrows. "There are benefits."

A warmth went through Miles that had nothing to do with the Scotch settling nicely in his stomach. Yeah, there were. It had been a while.

"Doubt the others in your command would approve."

"Fuck them."

"Yeah?" It had really been a while. Between the intense battles of the last four months as they drove their way through all opposition to Philadelphia, a few debilitating wounds Miles suffered, and Bass' inability to turn down the conquered throwing their women at him, they hadn't done more than share a tent since around the first of the year. Slowly, he shook his head. "Not a good idea, Bass. Since the power went out, homophobia has reared its ugly head everywhere."

"I'm the President."

"Yeah, but, only because the leadership supports you. Let's consolidate our power before we start going against the grain."

Bass gave him a disappointed look. "We snuck around before."

"Every eye is on you."

"Why can't I have one fucking thing I want?" Slamming his nearly empty glass down on the desk, Bass glared at his best friend, his partner in every way but one. Scotch splashed over his finger and he sucked the digit between his lips.

"Jesus..." Miles' eyes darkened and, smirking, Bass obscenely licked his finger.

"I could snap my fingers and have any woman in this city in my bed within the hour," he stated, his voice low and husky.

Hidden on the other side of the desk, Miles pressed the palm of his empty hand to his suddenly aching groin. "Bass," he warned.

"I don't want any of them. I wouldn't be able to turn my back on any of them, completely relax with any of the. You're the only person I trust wholeheartedly."

"That's a problem."

"I know. President for eleven days and I'm already paranoid of pretty much everyone, including men I've fought and bled alongside for years. But, not you. Never you." As he spoke, Bass rose to round the desk. When he saw where Miles' other hand was, he leered. "I get to you."

"You always have," Miles growled in response and slammed back the rest of his drink. "You're a pushy ass."

He sat that ass down on a corner of his desk and gave his General a heated look.

Sighing, Miles slid the empty glass onto the desk and surrendered. "You bring this new empire down because you're horny and I'll kill you myself." Rising, he headed to the hidden door to Bass' bedroom. "And, I'm topping."

"Sure, buddy, whatever you want," Bass replied cheerfully, strolling after him.

*****

Dawn found Miles awake and at a window overlooking an overgrown courtyard. Men and women in ragtag, mismatched clothing, were training under the watchful eye of a few officers, none of them dressed much better. Idly he ran a finger over the faded, worn denim of his jeans, then huffed. 

Maybe uniforms were a good idea.

Uniformity went hand in hand with equality of a sorts. If everyone in the rank and file was the same, had the same, no one should balk. Discipline would be regimented. Standards would be set. The method of rising in the ranks would be along established parameters. Obey and get rewarded. Break the rules and be punished. Peer punishment maybe.

"You're thinking very loudly," Bass groaned from the bed behind him. "And it's too fucking early."

Miles glanced over his shoulder then shrugged it. "The uniforms are a good idea."

"...I'm still not picking a china pattern." Scratching his shoulder where a dark red hickey showed on pale skin, Bass sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "You do that."

"I'm not you wife," Miles drawled, licking his lips slightly at the sight of his fingers bruised into his president's hips. "If you're not going to get a wife, get a secretary. Or...you know, let Neville's wife make those choices for you. She's got a good eye."

"She's devious." Slipping into a robe, he joined Miles at the window. "But, yeah, I suppose I can trust her with silverware and art and that kind of crap I seem to need now."

"It's all just the trappings of State. What's out there is where your true power lies."

"And that's why I need you. The army trusts you completely."

"I'm not going anywhere." Making sure no one was looking up at the window, Miles slipped an arm around Bass' waist and pressed a kiss to his neck. "You're right, it's too early to be up."

"But, I am up." Bass leered at him and dragged him back to bed.

End


End file.
